Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [27]
“What sort of people did he have?” Pitt asked, following her through to the sitting room, which was surprisingly small for such a house. It was very elegant, with a Sheraton table and chairs in gleaming wood, and a Bokhara rug which would have cost Pitt at least a year’s wages.
The windows looked onto a long lawn set with trees, sloping down to the water beyond. A willow made a cavern of green and reflected like lace on the barely moving current. A pergola was covered in roses, its latticed arches white through the leaves.
Mrs. Geddes was watching him.
“Used that a lot, ’e did.” She sighed. “Folks like ter ’ave their pictures took in beautiful places. ’Specially ladies. Makes ’em look good . . . kind o’ romantic. Gentlemen prefer summink grand. Like ter dress up in uniforms, they do.” Her tone of voice conveyed her opinion of people who wore clothes that made them look more important than they were. “ ’Ad one daft ’aporth as dressed ’isself up as Julius Caesar!” she sniffed vigorously. “I ask yer!”
“But Mr. Cathcart had no objection?” Pitt tried to imagine it.
“O’ course ’e didn’t. ’Elped ’im, an all. Then that’s ’is job, in’t it? Take pictures o’ people so they looks like they wanter see ’emselves. Daft, I call it. But that don’t matter. I dunno wot yer wanter see ’ere, but this is all there is.”
Pitt looked around, uncertain himself what he wanted to ask. Had Cathcart been killed here? The answer to that might matter a great deal. This house was in an excellent place for a punt to float from down as far as Horseferry Stairs. But then so were scores of other houses that backed onto the river.
“Did he entertain here?” he asked. “Have parties?”
She stared at him with total incomprehension.
“Did he?” he repeated. Although the neatness of the rooms in the house he had seen so far made a party in which clothes such as the green velvet dress might be worn seem unlikely, certainly not before Mrs. Geddes had very thoroughly cleaned and tidied up.
“Not as I know of.” She shook her head, still puzzled.
“You never had anything to clear up, a lot of dishes to wash?”
“No, I never did, not as yer’d call a lot. Not more’n three or four people’d use. Why yer askin’, Mr. Pitt? Yer said as ’e were murdered. That don’t ’appen at parties. Wot yer on about?”
He decided to tell her a half-truth. “He was dressed for a party . . . fancy dress. It seems unlikely he was out in the street in such clothes.”
“ ’Is clients dressed daft,” she responded hotly. “ ’E never did! More sense, even if ’e catered ter some as ’adn’t.”
There was probably a great deal Mrs. Geddes did not know about Mr. Cathcart, but Pitt forbore from saying so.
“Does he have a boat, perhaps moored on the river at the bottom of the garden?” he asked instead.
“I dunno.” A look of misery filled her face. “You said summink about a boat before. ’E were found in a boat, were ’e?”
“Yes, he was. Did you do any tidying yesterday when you came?”
“There weren’t nuffink ter do. Just cleaned as usual. Did a bit o’ laundry, like. Same as always . . . ’ceptin’ the bed weren’t slept in, which was unusual, but not like it never ’appened before.” She narrowed her lips a trifle.
Pitt read the gesture as one of disapproval.
“He occasionally spent the night elsewhere? He has a lover, perhaps?” Remembering the green dress, he was careful not to attribute a gender.
“Well, I can’t see as she murdered ’im,” Mrs. Geddes said angrily. “That’s not ter say I approve o’ carryin’s on, ’cos I don’t! But she in’t a bad sort, that excepted. Not greedy, and not too flashy, if yer know what I mean.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Well, I s’pose as she’ll ’ave ter be told an’ all. ’Er name’s Lily Monderell. Don’ ask me ’ow she spells it, as I got no idea.”
“Where will I find Miss Monderell?” he asked.
“Over the bridge, in Chelsea. I ’spec ’e’s got it writ down somewhere.”
“I’d like you to come with me through the rest of the house to tell me if anything’s different from the way it usually is,” he requested.
“I dunno wot you think yer gonna find,” she said, blinking hard. Suddenly the awareness